


Badge of Honor

by bushlaboo



Series: Arrow Goes to the Movies [7]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Dark Comedy, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by a Movie, Kidnapping, Murder Mystery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushlaboo/pseuds/bushlaboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Lethal Weapon</em> meets <em>Arrow</em> (kind of, sort of) AU – veteran cop, John Diggle, is partnered with a young suicidal cop, Oliver Queen. Their first case will either make or break their partnership, if it doesn't cost them their lives. [FYI – Technically I suppose this is not full on Olicity, it has more of a season one feel to it – Oliver and Felicity getting to know, like, and work with each other – but pretty much everything I write for <em>Arrow</em> has the intention of leading them to being the Olicity we all know and love.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Badge of Honor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinaDay3W](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinaDay3W/gifts).



> Tina, Tina, Tina! Way back when I made my first _Arrow_ fanfic recommendation [post](http://bushlaboo.tumblr.com/post/117550487589/if-you-havent-you-should) on Tumblr with my list of stories that HAD TO BE read I included your brilliant [Felicity's Sweet Revenge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3606600), which is still one of my absolute favorite AUs. I absolutely love reading your stories. So this one is for you!

Oliver felt the cool press of the metal against his temple and his finger flexed ever so minutely on the trigger of his gun. It wasn’t enough pressure to fire the weapon, but as he sat inside the dinky little trailer on the edge of Starling Bay that he’d made his home for the last eighteen months he considered just how easy it would be to pull back his index finger and bring this long day – one where he’d already been on the wrong side of a gun – to a final, fatal end.

He wanted to die. Had honestly wanted to stop existing since the moment he'd gotten the news of her fatality. He had never been a man who loved or trusted easily, he pulled into himself and held back. There were only a very few, not even a handful of people, who truly mattered to him. Though he was estranged from his baby sister, Thea, and his oldest friend, Tommy, because being with them reminded him of who wasn't with them and _should_ be.

Her loss was an ache that would not go away. He felt it with each breath he took and the only reason Oliver had not partaken of the single hollow point bullet he’d picked out especially to end his life at the conclusion of each day was because as much as he missed the woman who had written her entire being into his soul, he could not disappoint his sister or Tommy. Even as he held them at a distance in his grief, he couldn't hurt them and leave them to feel the sense of desolation that had become his default setting. The only thing worse than living through losing Shado would be abandoning those he loved to same fate he was suffering.

It was very likely the despair was driving him crazy, but Oliver wasn't selfish enough to put his need to be with Shado again above what was best for his family, even if how he was coping was hurting them. This, his new normal, while painful was better than the alternative.

Should that change, if his loss ever became the better option, well Oliver had the bullet picked out and he wouldn't hesitate. It was the only thing he had left to offer them.

He eased the gun from his head, clicked the safety in place and set it on the table beside him. Once he had his dog, Sam, curled on his feet in front of him. Oliver reached down and scratched behind his ear before flicking on the Three Stooges and biting into his half of the turkey sandwich he split between himself and Sam for dinner.

***

_The Next Day_

Arguing with Captain Quentin Lance was futile and had been since she was a child. While her father respected her accomplishments and believed in her abilities as one of the department’s psychiatrist he had a hard time turning off his father’s knows best (even when he didn’t) mentality with her. Normally it was just an added frustration to her job, but today their opposing views could be detrimental to the health of one of his officers.

That she was taking too personal of an interest in said officer – Oliver Queen was her fiancée’s best friend and up until he’d lost his wife Laurel would have cataloged him as her friend as well – was an argument he had made with her when she insisted that Detective Queen was not fit for active duty.

Laurel knew her father was a big believer in working through pain, and she admitted that work could be useful, but Oliver was using his undercover assignments in Vice to play chicken. She was convinced that he was hoping to meet his end by the hands of a criminal. If he died in the line of duty he’d have nothing to feel guilty about and based on the few session notes she’d read of his, she was convinced that is what he was looking for – a permanent end.

She knew she could get in trouble for sneaking a peek at his file and for having this conversation with her father, but watching the worry and fear eat away at Tommy was killing her. “Transferring him to Homicide isn’t enough,” she insisted following her father out of his office down the hall towards the main bullpen. “He needs to be riding a desk.”

Her father stopped short, causing her to nearly collide with him. “This is Queen we’re talking about here. _Oliver_ Queen. He’d go stir crazy within half a day if you had him at a desk. You know that baby.”

“What I know is that he’s attempting suicide by criminal.”

Her father shook his head – it was still odd seeing his nearly bald head glisten in the sickly fluorescent light instead of his old mop of dark, wiry hair – and let out a huff. “Think Laurel. What you _think_. He’s too much of a cop, too good of a one to disrespect the badge that way.”

“Dad—” she started to protest, but he cut her off. “He takes risks. Admittedly crazy ones sometimes, but I have no doubts about the kind of officer he is,” he stated, his dark eyes narrowing. His stance was ridged and final, indicating that he was done with this argument. She scowled refusing to drop her hazel gaze from him while they battled it out silently.

They may butt heads, frequently, but when push came to shove Laurel knew she had her father wrapped around her finger. Their battle of wills ended with his tense shoulders sagging slightly as he exhaled. “Look I get your concern. That’s why I transferred him to Homicide and partnered him up with Diggle. There is no one more solid or better able to keep a watchful eye on someone than John. If Oliver really is in the place you think he is, he’ll spot it.”

Before she could counter that while a stellar Sergeant and all-around decent human being John Diggle wasn’t a trained psychiatrist experienced in helping people through complex issues like the one Oliver faced, the man himself shouted, “Gun!” and charged from his desk in the middle of bullpen to the front.

Her father stepped in front her, but Laurel leaned pass his frame to see Diggle charging towards none other than Oliver – dressed in frayed jeans and gray henley that had seen better days – gun in hand in front of two patrol officers. The officers in the room reacted to the warning, looking for the threat, Oliver included. When Diggle tried to tackle him, Laurel watched wide-eyed as Oliver quickly stunned him with a judo move before tucking and rolling Diggle over his shoulder to thrust the larger man to the floor. Once Diggle was on the ground Oliver came to stand over him, gun at the ready.

Her father rushed forward, scattering the officers and support staff away. With forced joviality he clapped a hand over Oliver’s shoulder and looked down at Diggle who was glaring at the younger man hovering over him. “Meet your new partner,” he announced to the two of them.

Seeing the hostility and wariness between the two men Laurel started making mental calculations on when her father’s idea of a fix would blow up in all their faces.

***

Though he had made it look effortless taking down Sergeant John Diggle, a veteran cop of the Starling City Police Department and former Special Forces solider, had been more difficult than the easy roll everyone had witnessed. The sheer muscle mass of the gargantuan police officer had been a bit of a struggle for his tired body to contend with, but Oliver had his own training care of the United States government and SCPD academy. Not to mention the additional workouts he undertook to fill up the lonely hours he wasn’t on duty. The only time he could escape his thoughts was when he was pushing his body beyond the brink, exhausting himself just enough to catch a few hours of troubled sleep before nightmares or longing would pull him from an unconscious and never truly rested state.

Diggle, as he requested to be called, only had an inch of height on him but even with his own wide expanse of muscles Oliver felt small next the mocha skinned man. It wasn’t a feeling he was entirely comfortable with and it was only exacerbated by the difference in how he and his new partner dressed. Diggle wore a suit and tie, the tie was a godawful shade of pink with purple swirls, that no grown man should ever be caught dead wearing as far as he was concerned.

After seeing that they were acquainted with each other and reminding Oliver that homicide detectives didn’t dress like degenerates – he cursed silently at that as he hated wearing a suit and he could only hope that a compromise of slacks and a shirt sans threadbare markings would be acceptable for tomorrow – Captain Lance left them to their own devices so that Diggle could bring him up to speed on the case, the probable suicide of Amanda Hunsaker, he’d picked up the day before.

He got a precise and concise rundown of the scene (an upscale hotel that catered to their guests’ privacy) and the victim (a high-end call girl) and the fact that Diggle knew the woman’s father. He was getting a quick synopsis of Michael Hunsaker, a former solider buddy turned banker, as they walked to the CSI lab. Oliver never had much cause to interact with the Geek Squad as many of his fellow undercover officers called them because he was too busy out on the streets or struggling to fill out the mandatory paperwork, his least favorite part of the job, to care about interacting with them. He hadn’t been charged with the actual daily grind of evidence collection in years and he figured that he was responsible for doing his job correctly and collaring the bad guys he could fully expect the support services of the SCPD to do theirs to ensure conviction without any input from him.

This didn’t seem to be Diggle’s philosophy as he called out warmly, “Good morning, Felicity,” as they stepped into one of the glass walled offices. There was a slight figure hunched crookedly over a series of computer screens – all of them with different searches running or reports up for viewing on them – the overly bright light in the space haloed around long, curly blonde hair barely contained in a ponytail. Oliver got the impression of pink, from the woman’s blouse, before she turned and he was greeted with image of wide, painted lips trying to smile around a red pen and blue bespectacled eyes dancing with genuine affection as they landed on Diggle.

Hastily she grabbed the pen from mouth, her lips turning up in a full welcoming grin as she replied, “Hey Dig.” He felt the weight of her eyes, bright and curious, upon him as she asked “Who’s your friend?”

There was a low grumble from Diggle and something that sounded suspiciously like, “Not my friend,” which caused the young woman’s eyes to widen in surprise. His partner must have thought better of his response because he suddenly straighten his stance and said, “This is Oliver Queen, my new partner. Queen the smartest and finest CSI tech you’ll ever find, Felicity Smoak.”

He watched amused as Felicity preened at Diggle’s words and then flush with embarrassment at the compliment. She shooed it off with a wave of her hand and the comment, “You’re biased.” Diggle merely arched a brow and Felicity rolled her eyes in response, giving Oliver a very clear sense of their relationship. They weren’t just colleagues but friends, good friends if the picture (of Diggle, Felicity, a brunette woman and cute little baby girl) on the shelf above the computer screens was anything to go by. There were only two other pictures in the office next to it, one of Felicity with a blonde woman who had to be her mother but could easily pass as her older sister, the two of them dressed in horribly ugly Hanukkah sweaters; and in the other she was with a younger man in a red hoodie looking extremely put upon as Felicity made a duck face.

Busy taking all of that in and expanding his assessment of John Diggle; Oliver missed Felicity reaching out to offer her hand. Diggle coughed to alert him to missed social cue and he reached out just as she was pulling back. He paused instantly, leaving his hand hanging in the air between them. She pushed hers forward quickly, smacking it against his, a frown marred her brow as she huffed, “Ouch, you’re hard.” Behind her glasses her luminescent eyes went saucer wide and Felicity spit out, “And by you I mean your hand, not anything else, although I’m sure—”

“Felicity,” Diggle said her name with an amused groan ending her awkward ramble.

Oliver could feel the smile on his face. It was an odd sensation because it had been so long since one had graced it. He cupped Felicity’s hand in his own, it was soft and small and completely engulfed by his own calloused paw, and pumped it up and down gently. “Nice to meet you, Felicity.” Though he hadn’t intended it, he drew out her name, liking the way it felt to say it. It was light somehow, like the woman in front of him.

“And you,” she replied as she used her free hand to adjust her glasses.

“What do you have for us?” Diggle inquired leaning into their shared space forcing Oliver to drop Felicity’s hand. Until he let it go he hadn’t realized that he kept a hold of it and now that the warmth of her palm was no longer against his own he was surprised to find that he missed the feel of their hands cupped together. He shook the outlandish sentiment from his mind as Felicity turned back to her screens and pulled up a report.

“Your suspicious death is a murder,” she informed them. “See here,” Felicity continued using her turquoise painted index finger to draw their attention to a specific line in the report she had opened. “The cocaine and barbiturates in her system and left out in the room were laced with drain cleaner.” She looked up over her shoulder at them, her eyes sad as she said, “Even if she did jump she would have died within in minutes anyway.”

She focused back on the screen and pulled up another report, “Add that to the fact that there is evidence of someone else being in bed with her that night and you’ve got yourselves a murder.”

***

John Diggle was beginning to think he’d been protecting and serving a little too long. He had gone straight from graduating high school with honors, much to his embarrassment – being from his neighborhood and his size, smart wasn’t something that was valued much outside his immediately family – into the military. He’d been an exceptional Special Forces solider and met his wife, Lyla, while serving one of his three tours of duty before retiring due to an injury that stunted his military service but did not prevent him from passing the police physical. He moved quickly up the ranks of the SCPD, often working double shifts while his better half was off working missions for a covert agency he wasn’t officially supposed to know about.

Though being separated was challenging they made it work because they both believed in doing good work to help people, granted they had been working at different levels since they left the military, his wife had been protecting the free world while he had battled to make a difference on the streets of his hometown. Sometimes both their missions seemed impossible and never-ending, but they refused to give up trying.

Discovering Lyla’s pregnancy had been a shock to them both, but as their daughter’s second birthday neared and they settled into a life that included an actual house which he spent the weekends making improvements on and less in the field time for Lyla they both would happily admit that Sara was their greatest joy and accomplishment. Going home to his girls and his nephew, Andy Jr., since his sister-in-law Carly worked nights was the thing Dig looked forward to most.

Based on his reputation and what little he had experienced firsthand so far today the insertion of Oliver Queen into his work life felt like it could be a direct and serious threat to getting home at the end of each shift. To say he was not pleased by that fact was a very mild understatement. Then there was the way the strung out younger officer softened around Felicity. Seeing that and hearing her innuendo laden babble put his protective instincts on high alert. He’d known Felicity Smoak for three years and it had taken all of five minutes, after she had literally run into him her first day on the job, for him to develop a fondness for the quirky genius. Their relationship had transition quickly from colleagues to friends to family as both he and Lyla cultivated an affinity towards the young Vegas transplant, so much so that when it came to choose godparents for Sara they decided on two godmothers: Felicity and Carly.

It was a dubious enough notion, putting his life in Oliver Queen’s hands, the idea of him having any kind of interest in Felicity was enough to make his stomach seize and for him to wish he had a stockpile of antacids. That feeling was probably why he snapped “What?” at his new partner as they made their way through the garage. After getting Felicity’s report the fact that Michael Hunsaker had been trying to get in touch with him earlier seemed particularly interesting, Oliver had agreed and they had quickly decided on their next course of action: a conversation with his old pal.

The blank look Oliver had on his face since leaving Felicity’s office did not falter at his sharp, annoyed tone. “I just find it interesting,” he replied as they continued towards the car.

Diggle knew he was going to regret asking, but he did so anyhow. “Find what interesting?”

“Your choice of an old timer’s gun.” Dig glanced down to the 4” inch Smith and Wesson strapped to his hip and then over to the Beretta 9mm on Oliver’s and snorted before offering a glib, “We all can’t be registered lethal weapons," in reply.

"Let's cut the bullshit," Oliver said as they reached the car. His stubble worn face was still passive, but his voice took on a hard edge. "Pretty much everyone knows why I was transferred. People think I'm suicidal, in which case, I'm fucked and nobody wants to work with me; or they think I'm faking to draw a psycho pension, in which case, I'm fucked and nobody wants to work with me. Basically, I'm fucked."

During his speech, and Diggle found it surprising that he could string so many words together at one time since he'd been fairly monosyllabic up to this point, Oliver had edged his muscle compact frame over the roof of car invading more of his space. Drily he informed his new cohort, "I don't want to work with you."

"Then don't," he countered back his blue eyes flaring.

"You think Lance gave me choice?" Diggle fired back. He smacked the roof and declared, "Looks like we're both fucked."

"Seems that way," Oliver volleyed back as he swung his door open.

Diggle looked skyward and grumbled, "God hates me. That's what it is."

There was short, hard sound that could only very loosely be termed a bark of a laugh that resonated through the garage before Oliver told him, "Hate him back. It works for me."

***

Considering their earlier exchange Oliver did not fault Diggle leaving him in the car when he went to deliver the news that his daughter’s death was not a drug fueled accident but calculated murder. Based on the tight, sour look on his partner’s face when he returned to the vehicle it had not been a pleasant conversation. Notifications never were, but the added element of knowing the person; it made the experience a special kind of hell. He was debating how to go about inquiring how the exchange went when Diggle smack the steering wheel and cursed under his breath, “Son of a bitch.”

Oliver watched his big hand fist around the wheel, his knuckles going pale at the force behind Diggle’s grip. It went that well then Oliver thought and felt a silver of another forgotten emotion: empathy.

He watched warily as Diggle took a deep breath and exhaled the air from his lungs sharply. The tension in his body eased slightly as he slid into work mode and reported his discussion with Hunsaker; Oliver noted that the transition allowed Diggle to distance himself from his own swirling emotions. His partner’s voice was even as he explained that Hunsaker had reached out to him looking for help to get Amanda out of the world of drugs, prostitution and pornography she had fallen into. He had no names to share, his daughter had little to no communication with her family during the last two years unless it was to stop by the house when they weren’t around to steal things.

“He never reported it,” Oliver remarked. It was more a statement then a question, but Diggle nodded in confirmation.

His grasp on the wheel had loosened, but his next words had him clutching it again. “He intended to cash in a chip I owe him … getting her out. Now, he wants me to find out who is responsible and kill them.”

Though he had spent all of maybe two hours in John Diggle’s presence Oliver’s immediate reaction to that request was that it was never going happen. Not that his partner would never take a life, but to take one in cold blood, that wasn’t justice and Diggle’s reputation preceded him. If there was one officer in the Starling City Police Department that could be held up as a shining of example of doing this work for the right reasons and looking to see that a concept like justice that often felt cold and impossible to achieve was mete out it was Diggle.

Oliver had no doubt that was one of the reasons why Captain Lance had hung him like an albatross around the man’s neck. Diggle was the kind of officer every cadet aimed to be and was a reminder to him of the cop he’d been striving to be before Shado’s death.

Before he could offer the other man any words of comfort, not that he felt like he had any, at least none he thought Diggle would hear from him, their radio squawked alerting them to a jumper at a nearby building. Diggle responded immediately and they were on their way, siren blaring and lights flashing, as they drove the five blocks.

In retrospect, he probably wasn’t the best person to try and convince a suicidal man from jumping. His words sounded hollow to his own ears and he could not express with any sincerity the positives of living when life felt a like protracted, painful death. Since the man was no closer to stepping off the ledge in the right direction and the firemen had completed inflating the cushion below Oliver decided to speed things along since so far talking had no effect. “You wanna jump?” he asked the man. Wary brown eyes met his blue one, before looking out at over the cityscape as he considered.

Oliver decided to take the choice from him and exclaimed, “Let’s jump!” He used his lunge from the ledge to push the man off with him. There was a loud, frightful howl in his ear as they plummeted, followed by a groan as they hit the cushion. The man started yelling once he caught his breath demanding the people pulling them off their salvation to keep Oliver away from him. “You sure?” he asked. “We could go again.”

The man paled and tried to push his way through the mass of first responders around them and Oliver felt a strong hand clamp over his arm. He was tugged forcibly from the throng and dragged back to their car, where Diggle all but threw him against it. “You're not trying to draw a psycho pension,” he declared, “you really are crazy!”  
  
***

Whatever discussion they might have had after Oliver’s swan dive was cut short when Vice got them the name of pimp associated with Amanda Hunsaker. The drive to the gated community home that skirted the heart of the city was tense and quiet. Having a wildcard for a partner did not sit well with Diggle. He preferred knowing that the man who had his six could be trusted. He did not have the luxury of a shorthand that a longstanding partnership developed between them and after what he just witnessed he knew there was no way to predict how Queen would react or respond in a situation.

Driving up to the unknown with a volatile quantity made the acid in his stomach flare. He really was going to have to stop for TUMS he thought dejectedly as he pulled in front of the massive McMansion. Diggle was tempted to tell the sure cause of his developing ulcer no funny business, but there was no way to gauge how that would go over so they exited the car quietly and made their way up the driveway. They followed the curve of it up and around the back where they came upon two girls in skimpy bikinis crouched over a table covered in drugs.

They were almost to the gate, and Diggle was getting ready to pull out his badge and announce their presence, when a man with a shotgun appear and started shooting. His training kicked in and he promptly drew his gun and shot the man in leg. The gunman dropped and the girls, who had begun screaming at the first shot, tried to run. Oliver corralled them, as Diggle kicked the shotgun from the man’s reach and made a comment about being able to interrogate him since he had not shot to kill.

He got a grumpy reply in response as Oliver stalked over to drag the gunman to his feet. As he hauled him up the man produced another weapon – this time a handgun – and with a quick snap of his wrists Oliver turned the gun on him and in the proceeding struggle it went off. The up close force of the hit forced the man backwards into the pool, which had plastic sheeting over it. He spun in the sheeting and it wrapped tighter around him as he sunk into the waters. Oliver followed him into the pool and yanked on the sheeting - trying to separate man from plastic. Diggle raced over the edge to assist him, he pulled up on the sheeting and with Oliver’s help they maneuvered the man out of the pool. When they were finally able to untangle the plastic from around him they found that he’d had drown before they’d been able to extract him.

“So much for that interrogation,” Oliver quipped. Diggle was about to bite back a response but saw the failure he felt written across Oliver’s face. He choked back his angry reply and instead told him, “Thanks for not letting him shoot me.”

Surprise flooded Oliver’s aquamarine eyes and he shrugged off the gratitude by stating, “We should call this in.”

***

Considering how the day started and how things had progressed the last thing Oliver expected was to end up at Diggle’s home sitting around his kitchen table with his wife Lyla, their baby girl Sara and his nephew Andy eating dinner as the family cat, Burbank, coiled herself around his legs. Sara was all adorable coos and attempted sentences as she filled in her father on her exciting day of play and coloring, between Andy (who upon seeing him had asked his uncle if he was crook) making up silly raps to make her laugh while they ate.

Observing the way that husband and wife communicated silently with looks and touches made his heart clench; he had that once, had cherished the sensation, and now desperately missed it. Since watching that connection, just how well the two fit together, hurt too much, Oliver focused on the kids and enjoyed their nonsense.

After consuming dry meatloaf, watery mashed potatoes and burnt green beans he stuck around to help Andy with his homework but when the boy’s math skills proved to be better than his he got pulled into helping Diggle take out the garbage. As they walked to the curb he commented, “You have a nice family.”

An indulged smile spread across his face, one that clearly indicated how in love Diggle was with his family. “Indeed I do,” he agreed as he lifted the lid and tossed the bag of trash into the can. “Coming home to them at the end of the day is my favorite thing.”

Oliver understood the message his new partner was giving him with that statement. He figured since he actually liked and respected the man and they were stuck together for the foreseeable future, a little honesty between them could not hurt. "You don't trust me, do you?"

Diggle let out a soft chuckle, "We’ll see about that,” he replied. “If we make it through tomorrow without you killing anyone, including me, then I'll start trusting you."

“I’m good,” he assured him, but sensing that Diggle needed more than that Oliver offered a truth that few people knew about him. “When I was nineteen, I did a guy in Iraq from a thousand yards out. It was a rifle shot in high wind. Maybe eight or even ten guys in the world could have made that shot. It's the only thing I was ever good at.” Instead of allowing Diggle a chance to respond, he gave a short wave and said, “Well, see ya tomorrow,” before hurrying over to his truck.

He saw that Diggle stood at the can, watching his taillights, until he pulled off his street. Not ready to face his empty home which after being in a real one again didn’t really seem like one anymore – even with Sam – Oliver drove around the city as his thoughts wandered.

Twenty minutes later, while idling at what had to be the city’s longest red light, he pulled out his cell and called the least likeliest person in the world. He half hoped that she wasn’t still at her desk and wouldn’t answer, but on the third ring he heard her lilting voice offer a professional greeting. Suddenly nervous and embarrassed he skipped the socially expected niceties and asked, “Do you like The Three Stooges?”

“Oliver?” she questioned.

“Yes,” he replied, before prompting, “So do you?”

There was brief pause, which made him begin to sweat before she answered, “I’ve never seen their movies. I was raised on Abbott and Costello.”

“The ‘Who’s on First’ guys?” he queried as the light turned green.

“They did more than that,” she chuckled as he began to guide himself home. “Maybe we can educate each other some—crap! Sorry Oliver, I’m still at the office, which of course you know because you called me, and a search I was running hit. I’ve got to write this up for Jones and I rather not spend another night sleeping at my desk. My neck hates me in the morning when I do that. Plus my toothpaste supply has run out so—”

“Fe-lic-i-ty,” he drew out her name again, ending her ramble, which he found himself enjoying; so much so that he hated to put an end to it, but Oliver was fairly certain she said all of that without taking a moment to breathe. “Stop. Breathe,” he instructed.

“Sorry,” she apologized.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Oliver assured her. “Write the report then go home. That’s an order,” he told her, not liking the idea of her sleeping in such an exposed space.

“I don’t think you’re officially the boss of me,” she replied her voice filled with the smile that he was certain was stretched across her face.

“For tonight I am,” he countered trying to keep his tone firm, but the delight she inspired steeped through.

“Oh all right,” she sighed playfully. “But we’ll do an educational night soon?” Felicity asked hopefully.

“Definitely,” he responded before he could overthink it and change his mind.

***

Though he had already reviewed the yearbook (taking note of the fact that Amanda had twin sister) and DVD that had been dropped on his doorstep in an over-sized envelope at home, he brought the evidence into to Felicity who had quickly processed the items for fingerprints and other trace particles to see if she could track down either who or where they had come from. She was in the process of scanning the pages from the Palos Verde High School yearbook – she wanted to run facial recognition against the criminal database to see if anyone had less than reputable ties to Amanda – when Oliver, no longer dressed like a suspect the police usually collared, joined them in her office with a small paper bag tucked under his arm.

Felicity offered him an absentminded greeting as she continued scanning the yearbook and worked on setting up her search parameters. While she worked her magic Diggle filled in Oliver on the appearance of the envelope and its content. They were discussing the ramifications of the delivery when his favorite tech popped the DVD in for processing and the young, beautiful face of Amanda Hunsaker graced Felicity’s large center screen. In it Amanda paraded through the scene half-naked with another woman.

Both he and Oliver frowned as the movie played with the volume so low they had to stop talking to hear anything as the various tools Felicity used began capturing different elements for her to research in greater detail once the entire film had been viewed. Though she was a grown woman, Diggle still felt a twist in his gut at having view the pornography. He knew from firsthand experience that the world was not an ideal place, but much like he wanted to protect Sara from the darker, seedier side of humanity, he felt the urge to do the same with Felicity; which considering her choice of profession was ridiculous because she chose to look at those things and help prevent them where she could and ensure punishment when they couldn’t. Three years and the ugliness had yet to tarnish her outlook on life or her ability to see the best in people, something that still managed to astound Diggle.

“You know,” Oliver started, eyes dropping from the screen, “with the drugs at the pimp’s house matching the ones found at the hotel and him being dead this case could be considered closed.”

Felicity spun in chair, her eyes flaring, “But what about the yearbook and DVD?” she challenged.

“That _is_ interesting,” his partner acknowledged. “I doubt the pimp mailed it to him.”

“And you can’t forget that the only witness to Amanda's suicide was the prostitute Dixie, who was working away from her usual stroll,” Felicity commented. When they looked at her oddly, she shrugged. “What? I read the reports of all the cases that I process the evidence on. It is the only way to get the full picture and make sure nothing was missed. And considering the video,” she said casting a quick glance back over her shoulder, verifying that the processing of it was still running smoothly, before meeting their collective gaze again, “you might want to consider that Dixie was working with Amanda that night. She or their john could have poisoned Amanda, though since Dixie posed as a witness it’s more than likely she did so to cover her crime.”

“You’re kind of a genius aren’t you,” Oliver stated and Diggle thought that the younger man was truly taking in the blonde for the first time.

“No kind of about it,” he replied before she could. “Come on, we owe Dixie a visit.” His sharp eye didn’t miss Oliver extracting a tube of toothpaste from the paper bag and leaving at Felicity’s elbow before he exited her office or the blinding smile she shot him. Yeah, they were going to have to have a talk about that soon he thought, because Felicity was well – Felicity. Besides making his professional life easier she had become part of his family, as her status as Sara’s godmother and unofficial aunt attested, over the last few years she had been with the department. He was honor bound to protect her from a mess of man like Oliver Queen, even if his attitude was softening towards him.

***

Oliver had not expected things to deteriorate as rapidly as they did after leaving Felicity’s office. He and Diggle arrived a Dixie’s and as they exited the car there had been a group four little kids who had identified them quickly as cops and started chanting, “You’re gonna bust Dixie.” The rundown house exploded as they neared it and a fire raged through it, making any rescue attempt untenable, though he highly doubted that Dixie was alive when the blast tore through her home.

After the firefighters snuffed out the flames, Oliver searched through the smoldering wreckage of the house and found the remains of a mercury switch. The growing sense of unease he felt at learning about the package left for Diggle grew exponentially at the evidence that a professional had set the charge that pretty much wiped Dixie’s existence from the face of the Earth and nearly killed him and Diggle.

While he’d been circling the house, Diggle had been talking to the ankle biters and flagged him over when he weeded the foursome down to one – a precocious little African-American boy around seven years-old by the name of Alfred, who wore a Minecraft t-shirt and backwards Starling Archers ball cap. Though initially hesitant because before the other boys had been escorted off for ice cream they fed him the notion that speaking to the police would get him arrested, Diggle still managed to get him talking. Once he had, the kid gave them a fairly generic description: a tall, white blonde man. There was however, one distinguishing detail: an Army Special Forces tattoo, one similar to Oliver’s, according to Alfred.

When an officer took Alfred to join his friends for his own cone, Oliver started muttering to himself about the possibility of switching careers. The fire department was always hiring weren’t they he found himself grumbling. When Diggle stopped his pacing, he thrust the switch into the man’s chest, “You know what this is and you know who has the training to work one of these up.”

The older man’s face went stormy as he answered, “Mercury switch and professionals.”

Oliver nodded tersely. “I think it’s time we talk to your friend Hunsaker again.”

He had prowled around the outside of man’s home while Diggle went to confront his old army buddy one-on-one. It was later, after the helicopter had buzzed around the palatial house, a sniper taking mostly pop-shots save for the one that cleanly ended Hunsaker’s life, that he’d been filled in on the information the man provided. Hunsaker had been laundering money for a heroin smuggling operation run by a group of ex-CIA and Special Forces mercenaries from a unit known as Shadow Company. The operation had been running under the guise of a CIA-fronted organization and was headed by retired General Matthew Shrieve and his right-hand man Mr. Joshua. If Oliver had to guess, the near albino mass of muscle sniper who he had attempted to hit with his 9mm at Hunsaker’s was Joshua.

After working the scene and writing up his report Oliver decided to hit the streets, hoping to find a prostitute that knew or worked with Dixie that could point him in the direction of Shrieve or Joshua. He was chatting with particularly crazy-eyed redhead by the name of Carrie when a car came flying down the street, bullets spilling forth from it at a rapid pace. He managed to push the working girl to the ground before he felt two hard blasts hit him in the chest. The force of them threw him backwards into a plate glass window, which had also been hit by bullets and with his added weight the pane shattered, causing him to fall through it.

He could hear the sound of squealing tires, the screams of the redhead and the unexpected shouting of his name from Diggle as he tried to catch his breath. “Oliver. Oliver,” Diggle repeated rushing to his side.

“Dig,” he managed to wheeze out as his partner knelt down beside him, looking him over. He felt his hands pull at his jacket, trying to get to the wounds to assess them and he heard a relieved, “Son of a bitch,” uttered forth from Diggle’s mouth when he discovered that the bulletproof vest underneath it had taken the brunt of the hits. Though winded, he was alive and marginally well considering the bruises he was certain were forming from the impact of the bullets and the fall.

“That was him,” he croaked as Diggle hauled him to his feet. Carrie was long gone, so Diggle help drag him towards his car. As he did so, he queried, “Him who?” Concern still marred his face and saturated his tone.

“The sniper from this afternoon,” Oliver answered, still panting slightly, as he hadn’t fully caught his breath. “And I say we use that to our advantage.” His partner leaned him against the vehicle and they started discussing just how they could when the radio reported a distress call from Diggle’s home address.

They raced to the Diggle household, both of them on edge and Oliver assuring him that the worse had not happened. He could see that Diggle wanted to believe that – _needed_ to, but was struggling to do so. When they finally got to the house they found the front door smashed in and Oliver saw that it took a considerable amount of effort on Diggle’s part not to fall apart at the first sign of trouble. The man steeled himself quickly and they pushed forward only to find a note warning Diggle that Shrieve had Andy.

Oliver watched, feeling helpless and angry, as Diggle crinkled the note tightly in his fist, mangling the piece of paper. He thought he might have to stop him from doing something desperate and stupid, but the phone rang and the voice on the other end of the line ordered Diggle to stay close and await further instructions. Though it had been difficult, Diggle managed to choke down his rage long enough to reach Lyla. After confirming that she and Sara were safe, he contacted Felicity so she could setup a forward on his phone allowing them to be mobile.

She also rerouted all non-essential calls to her so that she would able to trace them and provide confirmation that Oliver was dead, should anyone call inquiring about the shooting. When they clambered into her office, after breaking pretty much every traffic law in the books, she told them that she just got off the phone with a reporter, she threw up hands and made a quotations gesture when she said the word. “I confirmed that an officer died in a drive-by, but said his name was being withheld until the family was notified. Based on where I traced the call from, I think it is safe to say not a reporter.”

“Where?” Diggle asked and Felicity pulled up a map of area about thirty miles outside of Starling near a dried out lake-bed. Since the waters dried up the area had been nicknamed El Mirage Lake. “I need everything you can get on that location Felicity.” She nodded and went to work, her fingers flying across her keyboard at a lightning pace.

Diggle stepped back to him, pulling him to the far corner of Felicity’s office and spoke lowly. “We’re doing this your way. Shoot first, questions later.”

“I get where you’re coming from John.” Oliver used his first name to impress upon him the seriousness of what he was asking. “But if we do that we’re gonna get bloody. Do you really want to take that kind of risk with Andy?

He felt the weight of Diggle’s dark eyes studying him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get my nephew back. What I need to know … are you really crazy or as good as you say?"

“You’ll just have to trust me,” he replied. Diggle let a low laugh, “The thing is, I think I do.” Before he could respond Diggle’s cell rang. “Felicity?” he called out.

“Ready to trace,” she assured him and Diggle answered the call. Oliver leaned in close so he could hear the man on the other end giving him instructions to meet him at El Mirage Lake the next day. “Once we’re sure you’ve told us everything Michael Hunsaker shared with you we’ll let you and boy go.”

The call ended abruptly and Oliver hurried over to Felicity and leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at her monitors. “Same location as earlier?”

“Yep,” she answered, “and there is a structure not far from there.” She looked over her shoulder and pass him to Diggle. “Depending on how far past legal you guys would like to go, I can get you all but inside it.”

“Meaning?” Oliver queried.

“Hack the right satellite with infrared cameras and we’ll know that place better than they do,” she answered, her gaze still focused on Diggle.

It wasn’t until he asked, “You can do that?” that her eyes met his again. She blushed slightly, but answered with pride, “One handed in my sleep.”

And that had led them to their unsuccessful attempt to extract Andy from Shrieve and his men when Diggle met up with them the next day. Even with him setup to provide cover, Diggle and Andy hadn’t managed to escape as Plan A (which included Diggle dropping a disguised as grenade smoke bomb causing the mercenaries to scatter) called for and they had all been captured. Which is how Oliver found himself waking up shirtless and strung up, water dripping down on him from the leaky pipes he was suspended from, surrounded by Shrieve and a handful of his men. He wondered briefly where they were and if their eye in the sky had been able to follow them before Shrieve’s bloviating distracted his train of thought. As he further took in his surroundings and Shrieve’s men he noted that one of them had battery cables with sponges attached to them. Oliver didn’t need to have an active imagination to know what he intended to do with them.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I came across some Shadow Company pussies in Hong Kong.” That earned him a hard punch to his solar plexus from the white-haired blonde that Diggle’s earlier exchange with the group confirmed to be Joshua. Oliver grinned, all teeth and predator-like, promising the men that he was going to enjoy bringing them down.

“I doubt you’ll be in any condition to do that when Endo is through with you,” the General replied. The man with cables stepped forward, touching the sponges to this chest, sending shocks of severe pain sparking throughout his body.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the General stated, as his body spasmed from the volts of electricity, leaving him alone in the room with just Joshua and Endo.

Joshua stepped up to him and yanked his head back by his short hair with a harsh tug. “I’ll kill you quickly if you tell me what Hunsaker shared with your partner.”

Even though the hold Joshua had on him made it painful, Oliver turned his head and told the man, “You’re in for a long night because he didn’t tell us anything.”

“Slow it is then,” Joshua said throwing an elbow into his side before stepping back and allowing Endo to go back to work on him. During the first shocks Oliver fought through the pain, with the third one he started to bite down on his lip, and by the sixth one he had bitten through it, drawing blood. With the seventh shock he finally let out a pained scream. He received four more shocks before his head dropped to his chest and he hung slack from the ropes, all but pulling his arms from their sockets.

Endo slapped at his face, telling Joshua, “I don’t think he knows anything.”

“Then kill him,” the other man ordered before exiting the room.

Oliver had to rely on sound to tell him how close Endo was has he approached him to administer the final shock. When he was certain the man was near enough he jumped into action, head butting Endo, stunning the man into dropping the cables and allowing him to lift his legs up and wrap them around the man’s neck. He wrapped his hands around the ropes, using what little strength he left to pulled himself up and give him the leverage and the angle he needed to twist his lower half and break his torturer’s neck.

Once the man’s neck snapped Oliver hastily slipped his bonds, reacquired his gun which Endo had tucked in his pants and went to find Diggle and Andy. He followed the sound of grunts to find Diggle strapped to a chair being subjected to a beating while being questioned about his knowledge of an upcoming heroine transaction.

The mayhem that ensued after the General gave the order to his men to rid him of his problem was all a blur to Oliver. He’d been brutal and efficient in taking down or killing all but the General who escaped with the help of Joshua. He’d swiftly removed the bonds holding the Diggles before pursuing the men. His chase led him through to a bar that acted as a front for their illegal activities where he dropped the bartender and two others, before it spilled out onto the street where the General and Joshua split.

Oliver kept after Joshua, but was unable to prevent him from commandeering a car and speeding off, with few options left to him he chased after the car on foot. Though fleet of foot, he lost the man when he hit the freeway, cursing he limped back only to find Andy in the care of an officer and Diggle about six blocks away standing over the wreckage of destroyed vehicle.

“Joshua escaped,” he panted coming to stand next to his partner.

“That’s all right,” Diggle replied, “I think I know where he’ll be headed.”

***

Diggle thought Oliver’s note had been a little over-the-top but when he heard Joshua let loose an outraged cry he decided the smart-alack message ( _Dear bad guys, no one here but us good guys._ ) had been the way to go. At the sound he released a rigged police cruiser so that it crashed into his living room and provided Oliver the distraction he needed to sneak into the room and place a gun to Joshua's head. He gleefully informed the man that, "Your general friend had his nuts barbecued on Wilson Boulevard."

The news infuriated Joshua and heedless of the danger he threw himself backwards into Oliver and twisted, knocking the gun from him and unleashing his fury with his bare hands. Diggle struggled through the carnage of his house and the seesaw battle of the two men who gained and lost the upper hand alternately.

He finally managed to get his hands on Oliver’s gun, but by then the fight had stumbled through the hole in his house and out to the front yard were a beam from a police helicopter shined down on the pair as the sounds of approaching sirens filled the air. He tried to aim, but the constant movement of the two men made a clean shot impossible, and he began to worry about the damage being done to Oliver’s already ravaged body. Finally, his partner got a scissor-leg lock around Joshua’s neck. He choked the man, cutting off his air flow. It looked as if he could and would snap Joshua’s neck, but he brought the man to near unconsciousness before thrusting him face down into the dirt. Huffing for air, Oliver motioned to the waiting officers to come and take Joshua into custody.

Oliver was stumbling forward, when Joshua made to grab a gun from one of the officer’s holsters. He had it out and pointed at Oliver before the young flatfoot knew what happened. Diggle didn’t hesitate; he fired two quick, lethal shots dropping Joshua before he could shoot Oliver.

“Guess it’s my turn to say thank you,” Oliver said tripping into his extended arms. Diggle shifted swiftly so that his shoulder came up under Oliver’s arm so he could support his weight better.

“Actually, I think you owe me an apology for talking me into demolishing my house,” he countered. Then Diggle joked, as they grinned stupidly at each other, “No way the insurance covers this.” They were both laughing weakly as he helped Oliver towards one of the ambulances that had arrived in tandem with their fellow boys in blue.

***

It had been months since he’d been there. Oliver did not need to stand over his wife’s grave to feel her, she was always with him. She became a piece of his soul long before he ever got the nerve to ask her to marry him and she would remain a part of him for as long as he lived. And there was something about seeing her name carved in unforgiving granite that made her loss somehow worse. The cold, gray material was the antithesis of her. Shado was warmth, the soft comforting green of summer leaves blowing in the wind that reminded a person that they were surrounded by life.

Still as hard as it was to come here, Oliver always made the journey when he had something important to share with her. He wasn’t sure if he believed in an afterlife, if Shado could hear him, but what was left of her physical form was here beneath the ground meaning some part of her got his words.

Oliver leaned down over the stone and gently wiped some of nature’s debris from it. For once he had hopeful words to share with her and he knew that would make her happy, and god wouldn’t that be something, he thought; to be able to make her happy again, one last time.

His first words to her were always of love, but given the time of year and his own fresh and fragile sense of optimism he said, "Merry Christmas,” before telling her, “I love you.”

Oliver placed his palm on the ground; the winter grass was prickly with thirst for water, as he tried to imagine that he was holding her hand. “You know that and you know I’ll never stop.” He paused, what he was about to say next was difficult, but stepping into the light after being encased in darkness was never meant to be easy. “I never expected … I saw someone, a woman,” he admitted guilty. “Not in _that_ way.” He was quick to make that assurance but he wasn’t sure if it was for her or himself. “She’s a person I would like to get to know as a friend. A real friend. A new one to go along with Diggle. Nothing else. I don’t think – I know I shouldn’t say _never_. I see John and his family and I wanted that with you. _So much_. I don’t know if I could ever want that with anyone else. Certainly not now, but whatever happens, whatever may change in the future you’re in my heart Shado. _Always_."

“I’ve just been existing recently, because it didn’t feel right to live without you, but now … they reminded me that it is okay to want to live. So I’m going to try and do that.”

He stayed there for a few minutes as the wind swirled around him. Closing his eyes Oliver could almost believe that she sent it, an embrace to let him know that she was pleased that he was finally willing to be a part of the wider world again. For the first time in months he felt his heart ease. “I love you,” he said again softly, patting the ground before he opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet.

Half an hour later he was in front of Diggle's house, the front of which had been patched to prevent the December weather from encroaching on the insides of it due to the damage it incurred earlier. Even in its battered condition it looked welcoming and Oliver knew it was because of the people who resided inside it. He walked up the lawn slowly, using the time his ambling speed gave him to reminded himself that he was certain about the decision he’d come to and what he was about to do.

He knocked on the makeshift door and returned Felicity’s bright smile with a smaller, but genuine one of his own when she answered. “I’ll get Dig,” she said after they exchanged greetings.

Oliver stopped her, he was actually happy she answered the door because he wanted her to know without having to explain the significance of it, because whether or not he was ready to accept what it could mean, she was a part of the reason behind his gift for Diggle. “I just need you to give Diggle something for me,” he said handing her the single hollow point bullet that he'd reserved for killing himself. “Tell him, I won’t be needing it anymore.”

She looked at it quizzically for a moment before her eyes drifted up to his. “Oliver—” she stopped and let out nervous chuckle. She rolled the bullet between her thumb and index finger, before fisting her hand around it and dropping her arm to her side. He could see a plethora of unsaid sentiments churning in her cornflower eyes and could only be grateful that instead of pressing she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get Dig?”

He nodded and offered her a quick little wave as a goodbye before turning to head back to his truck. His feet hadn’t hit the sidewalk before Diggle chased him down. “Where do you think you’re going?” his partner asked, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “I’ve got the world's lousiest Christmas turkey to eat and there are slices with your name on them,” he said turning them back towards the house.

Oliver let out a chuckle and replied, “How can I refuse that offer?” Though he knew that it was past time to reach out to Thea and Tommy, there were certain expectations and pressures that were associated with that he was not quite ready for and the idea of spending a few hours with John and his family along with Felicity really was a deal too good to pass up; horrible food or not.

As they headed back to the house he causally commented to Diggle how Felicity seemed to like him. His friend’s dark eyes narrowed protectively as he warned Oliver that if he made a move in that direction that he may have to maim him. It was exactly the response he was aiming for from the older man and getting it caused Oliver to grin as he asked, “Can I bring a friend to dinner?”

“What friend?” Diggle countered his voice laced with skepticism, clearly not sold on the idea that anyone else would be willing to put up with him.

Oliver whistled for Sam, who hopped out of the truck and made a beeline into the house. There was a quick cacophony of various intentioned barks followed by a shrill screeching as his dog got acquainted with Burbank the cat.

**Author's Note:**

> So did anyone catch the nod to _Major Crimes_?


End file.
